Number 33 for Cloud Park Corner

It occurred to me the other day that I have been thinking about heaven a lot lately. 

Don't worry; I'm not about to go all Natalie Portman and sprout wings and go all cray-cray at Mila Kunis. Nor, sadly, have I transformed into a statuesque blonde with the ability to intimidate loan-sharks a-la 'Angela'. I should also point out I remain staunchly agnostic about religious matters, and I am not questioning my mortality or seeking existential answers any more than usual. But still, there is this recurring fascination with a child-like interpretation of that fluffy place above us. 

My notion of the Hereafter is probably more like a sort of metropolis-come-funfair. I like the idea of angels with less-than angelic behaviours (not unlike Neil Gaiman's character Islington in 'Neverwhere', though perhaps not quite so malicious). Mine would have vices aplenty, and you'd find them doing all sorts of unseemly things, like scoffing whole bratwursts behind the moon, or relieving themselves as their cloud passed over Tom Cruise, or using their friends' halo as a basketball hoop. 

Very probably, Heaven would be a bit like London. It wouldn't just be angels that lived there, but all sorts of other characters too (though of course, I would love to see a Cockney chimney-sweep angel, that would be fabulous). There'd be bridges made out of rainbows, and mice on the moon, and cows mooching about in the Milky Way. Mary Poppins would be up there too, a pleasantly dotty old biddy with no teeth, carrying on about cough-syrup and her diabetes. Everything would be edible too: the clouds would taste of marshmallow, and each colour of the rainbow would taste of something different (the orange would be marmalade, and you'd think the red would taste of strawberry, but, FYI, it's chilli).

I always imagined my character the Cloud Princess lived in Heaven, or somewhere very like it; maybe a few thousand feet below in Cloud Land, or Fluffy Town, or Fairyflosstopolis. I had a lot of fun creating her character and, though I am long sold out of the small edition of 20 prints I made of her two years ago, I am still asked about her all the time. And so, I thought it was high-time to revist her.

As some of you might know if you follow my adventures on Facebook and Instagram, I am a relatively new slave to two Beaglier puppies, Sandro and Lily. At 5 months old they are quite the handful, and of course, I couldn't imagine what life would be like without them, and their sweet droopy faces. I have affectionately named these characters Princess Lily and Sandro Spottydog in honour of them, and I hope that I have conveyed just a little of the love and warmth between these two friends. 

The Cloud Princess, as I imagine her, loves to bake all sorts of cakes, but macarons are her absolute favourite (and not, incidentally, mine too!). She and Sandro have nipped up the shops for a few foodie supplies, and now are waiting for the Starbus to take them back home to Cloud Park Corner. The sun is just about to set, and Princess Lily always cooks her best macarons by the light of the moon!

I learned so many new things creating this piece, and I am particularly pleased with the slightly eighties, acid-wash look of the light on the clouds. All the best characters came out of the eighties for me: Lady Lovelylocks, Rainbow Brite, Strawberry Shortcake, and these were just a few of the inspirations behind Princess Lily's look. As always too- piles and piles of hair. And why not? Heaven hath no need of hairspray!

 

I hope you like this heavenly duo as much as I did making them.

Have a gorgeous day,
Mel x

are there doughnuts in heaven?

Hey-ho grumpy stars and pink galahs!

 

This is a little piece I finished last week, and I'm so glad to share her with you at last. I am really pleased with the way this character turned out; perhaps most of all because I finally feel like she is, on paper, everything I wanted her to be in my head. It sounds silly, but, me being my own harshest critic, it's always important to me to be true to my ideas, and try to solve problems I have getting there with my media. Coloured pencils are so often overlooked, but I really feel with mine that I have the control that I never felt with acrylics, and, given patience to just plug away, most of the time I get the results I'm looking for. It's exciting to look back even 6 months and think: 'Wow! I really have learned a lot!', and to think forward, even just another year, and think of what I might achieve then.

  

I think one of my greatest pleasures as an artist is to watch people's reactions as they walk around my market shop; to see them smile from their insides-out is so wonderful, and to hear them laugh is even better. I know when people laugh that they 'get' it, and I feel lucky and priveliged.
 

In contrast to this, I've also heard my work described as 'naive' (which I find supremely insulting), and/ or whimsical (which isn't too much better). I tend not to invest too much emotionally in conversations with people when they say these things because they've already dismissed my work on a stylistic level (I once had an infuriating conversation with a woman who insisted my work was 'naive, like Holly Hobby' and assured me she'd done a Masters in Visual Arts. I worked very hard resisting the temptation to suggest she ask for her money back). Very simply: I am serious about my pursuit of creating characters with one foot in my imagination, but convincing enough to flit between that and the real world. It doesn't mean I don't make serious art, it just means I want to have fun, to express a sense of humour, and in a way that isn't photo-realistic. The people who smile and laugh know all of that, and it's a relief, quite honestly. For me, it's validation, it's being understood, without having to justify myself or go into boring discourse on what art is, or should be, or silly labels that I feel boxed in by.

 

My little doughnut angel was my way of being a bit of a dork really. A few months back, when I'd kicked my smoking habit and was offsetting my misery slogging it out at the gym; fresh, hot cinnamon doughnuts were the perfect substitute, I felt. I did also joke at one point that heaven wouldn't be properly 'holey' if it weren't liberally stocked with doughnuts, and, in fact, it was my personal opinion that they should fall from the sky like rain, on the hour, every hour, and naturally they'd be calorie-free. As I got to know my little angel though, I got to thinking about all the obvious, existential things too. Mostly, I thought about my Grandma.

 

My grandparents have always been a big part of my life; growing up, school holidays were almost always spent on their farm. My Grandma's heart was big enough to hold everyone in it who'd ever met her; most people who ever made her acquaintance loved her and quickly became part of the family. Christmas-time saw Grandma in her element: cards poured in from all over the world and presents were sent in turn for all of the grand-kids, both biological and adopted. I was the youngest of the grand-kids until the great grand-children came along, and spoiled pretty well rotten. My Grandma had the most amazing gift of making everyone who ever met her feel like the most special person on earth. I looked nothing like my parents, but everyone said I was the spitting image of Grandma. She was always a beauty, even in her vintage years, and I loved poring over old photos of her, with her lovely dark hair and tiny waist. To me, she was the most beautiful woman on earth: inside and out. She was also, incidentally, an amazing cook and artist. 

 

Three years ago, I got a call from my parents to tell me that my beautiful Gran had had a sudden heart-attack. She'd slipped away in the hospital a little while later. Dave and I had only been living in London for a few months and, having only just found jobs, we couldn't afford to make the trip home. I always knew the day would come. Grandma always had one foot out the door after all; for the woman who taught me about fairies, I often wondered as a child if she wasn't a fairy herself. Being so far away, all I could think was: just one more time. One more cuddle. A chance to say goodbye. There were so many questions I still wanted to ask her: about life, about being a grown-up, about my family. . . For a lady that had always been so sharp and proud and funny, it seemed far too soon to say goodbye.

 

So what do you ask your loved ones when they're already gone? What do you ask when no end of questions would ever be enough, no last cuddles would ever scratch the surface of the person you've lost?

 

I realised that there were a million things I would never know the answer to when I lost Grandma. But, in little ways, I keep her alive in my heart. I still remember what it felt like to give her a cuddle. I can still hear her whistling along with the radio; the smell of her purfume; the way she'd peer over her glasses to do a lunchtime crossword, and scratch at her temple in concentration. The way she'd laugh, and it would fill up a whole room.

 

Sometimes I write letters to Grandma. They're not always written down on paper, but sometimes, just thinking of what she might say helps me make better choices, helps me do what is right, and helps me listen better to what's in my heart.

Dear Grandma,

I hope you are enjoying nice weather up there, and that you spend time with people you love.

We miss you down here.

Do you have a nice big pantry up there? Do you think you could make a roast next Sunday and send me a little container of leftovers? How many stamps do you think you might need for that?

And Grandma, I was wondering- do they have doughuts in heaven?

Please remember me to Poppa and my kitten Monty. I love you always x o x o x

 

Mel x

frida

Well, hello possums! I hope your weekend is a veritable orgy of fun frocks and frivolity, or, at the very least, a welcome reprieve from the warfare of work and other necessary mundanities.

I have been a busy little bee this month past. Perhaps you might have caught a few of my W.I.Ps on Facebook; though I sometimes feel like using it  is synonymous with selling my soul to the devil, it seems this is where I am getting the most feedback for my work these days! Still, my stats do tell me there are a dedicated few of you who still read the blog, and this is a good thing, because probably I would go mad if I couldn't write. Facebook is brilliant when used responsibly, but as I've said before, I feel too often that Facebookers can forget about the real feelings attached to the real people on the other side of a comment. It leaves me a bit glum sometimes.

I am not a bit sad, however, to share my latest addition to the Etsy shop, 'Frida'. She is probably the lady that needs no long-winded introduction, and I can't lie- I  don't actually know all the nitty-gritty about her anyways. Like most people, I find some of her work hard to look at. If I'm being honest (and before you storm my house with pitchforks, do remember this is just my opinion!) I don't think all of it was strictly good painting, and perhaps more accurately, it doesn't really suit my aesthetic sensibilities. All the same, there's no denying Frida Kahlo's work was utterly compelling.

 

I'm not sure how many of us can really identify with the sheer volume of her many personal struggles. The streetcar accident and the crippling physical pain that haunted her long after, eventually causing gangrene and the amputation of her foot; the continued heartache of her miscarriages; even the tumultuous relationship with Diego Rivera- any one of these things can and do break a person.

In my teaching days, I would mention Frida Kahlo to my students, who would continue to look at me blankly until I showed them a picture of her. They knew then, exactly who I was talking about ('the chick that looked like a dude' I believe one of my more astute charges described her). I think I am drawn to Frida Kahlo because her pain is written in her face, and there is such a strength in the hard set of her jaw, a fierce sense of self and unflinching honesty that transcends the monobrow and the mo and is, quite simply, beautiful.

There is a very famous photograph or two of Frida in some sort of alleyway, cuddling a deer, and this is how I think of her: both wild and barely contained, fragile and stronger than perhaps she could have known, and beautiful in her refusal to corset herself in the times and expectations of her sex.

What do you think?

Mel x

astrid

Hello, hello, and happy Tuesday grumpy stars and pink galahs!

I have had a beautiful week with my latest Wallflower, 'Astrid'. I love the sound of this name; the soft hiss of the 'As', and the muted thud of the 'id'. I have a bit of a love-affair with the way certain names sound, I must confess; like a Robert Frost poem, there's something about the way that names are said that brings them to life and gives them three dimensions.

 

'S' sounds in particular give me little goosebumps. Just for a bit of fun, have a read of this poem. Then read it out loud (for best effect, try to maintain the iambic rhythm if you can!).

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost, 1923

 

I think this is my favourite poem mostly because I feel like I've been somewhere else when I read it. It haunts me in a beautiful sort of way; long after I've finished reading I imagine echoes of snow falling and feel a sense of, I suppose, delicious loneliness. The little snowflakes around Astrid are a sort of tribute to this aural beauty, and in contrast to the daisies in her hair- because, this is a joyous and happy picture after all!

 

And, quite fittingly, her name means 'fair, beautiful goddess'- suits her very nicely, don't you think?

 

Speaking of all things divine, 'The Goddesses of Small Things' opens this Friday night at 6pm, DVAA, Woods Street, Darwin. This little flyer was designed by my fabulous and very clever friend Marita Albers, and you can come grab yourself one from my Mindil or Parap Market shops, or from Jacksons Art Supplies. This little gem of a show is all about miniatures: beautiful little things for you to love, and small enough to make your wallet smile too! Really looking forward to seeing you there.

 

Have a brilliant rest-of-the-week!

Mel x

introducing eva

Well, hello hello, dots and poppets!

Romeo raised a interesting, semi-existential question I reckon, in his monologue about roses smelling just as pretty if they were called another name. Vis-à-vis, do you ever meet people, and they tell you their name, and all the while you're thinking: 'That is just not the name that fits you?'.

I suppose I can relate to this, since the various stages of my growing up were clearly delineated by the names that people have called me. My parents named me Melissa, because they didn't want anyone to shorten my name. Quite predictably, they were the first to shorten it to either Liss or Lissa, and the rest of my family followed suit. As a teenager, my friends called me just Mel, which I have kept as an adult. I like that it's short and sweet and a bit informal; it feels like my idea of me.

Now don't get me wrong, Melissa is a very pretty name, and I wouldn't say it doesn't suit me, but at best I feel it's probably a bit too elegant and grown-up for the way I see myself most of the time. It is historically also a clear indication that I am in deep shit with the parents, should I be called or referred to by my full name. And, for this reason, I have always felt somewhat squirmy and uncomfortable in the past when employers call me Melissa (worse, is when I have tried to introduce myself into a workplace as Mel, and people think they're being polite by calling me Melanie). 

Because of all of this, I see the names of my characters as the final flourish to my work. Sometimes I have to sit on a piece for a few days until I strike upon the name that they are meant to fit, the one that is quintessentially them. Sometimes I ask Dave for his thoughts. In fact, when he asked me what I planned on calling this particular character, and we both said the same name, we knew it was absolutely right for her.

And so, without further ado, I'd love to introduce you to the second character of my 'Wallflowers' series, 'Eva' (as in 'AY-vah', not 'EE-vah').

Eva is of course the Latinate variant of the English 'Eve', and inseparable from the idea of life. I have been working towards creating characters that are a little older, and perhaps a little more in touch with their sexuality, which is perfect for a character that is so vital and sure of herself, and, let's face it- a little bit booby!

 

 

I think hair also says a lot about female sexuality, and like all of my characters, Eva has piles of the stuff. Renoir knew the power of the plait: it is both a revealing of a girl's femininity and a binding of it; a bit of a tease, really. Look at his bathers: charming lady-bits and very sweet, unaffected mannerisms. Yes, they're almost totally naked, but somehow sexier, and unavailable because of their elaborate hairstyles: they're still retaining some mystery to unlock. It works just as well in real-life: the most attractive people are almost always largely unaware of how lovely they really are.



Have you got any stories to share about people and the names they have or should have? I'd love to hear your thoughts!

 

Have a beautiful weekend,

Mel x

good things in threes

Me again!

 

For all of you who are chomping at the bit to snavel yourself a copy of 'Aurelia', she is now available for sale in my Etsy shop: hurrah!

 

And, on the subject of my Etsy shop, I've created a little coupon code for all of you who just can't decide on your favourite character. Choose any three prints to the value of AUD $50 for only AUD $120. You'll only pay for shipping once too: AUD $8 within Australia or AUD $12 anywhere else. Once you've popped your three favourites into your shopping cart, just enter GOODTHINGSINTHR33S once you're at the check-out.

 

I know a lot of you come back and continue to support my work and do yourself out of all available wall space, so this is a little thank-you ♥ 

 

Have a beautiful weekend!

 

Mel x



aurelia

Hullo dots and poppets!

Hope your week has been nothing short of splendiferous. Mine has been a busy one. Mindil Beach Market being cancelled this Sunday past was cause for a bit of a celebration in our house, since it meant a much-needed 'night off' for both of us. By 'night off', I do of course mean 'a night of drawing, beached on the couch, trash on the telly, in close proximity of inspiration (the coffee machine and fridge) nary a care that I am a slob at heart and nobody is around to raise an eyebrow at my leggings holier than a blessing from the Pope on Christmas Day'.

 

Among other things, you might infer from this little monologue that I am very much the homebody. Working from home is a dream come true for most people I think. But it is certainly not without its challenges, and I am learning everyday that it's not easy to be disciplined and eliminate distractions. It is always quite wonderful though, when I can synthesise all of the qualities I love and admire about the artists whose work is on my wall, and use it to inspire me to create better work and develop my own art practice. I am so happy to say thay it's very hard for me to be away from my pencils for too long at the moment, and I'm using almost every spare minute away from the market shop to draw.

For all of you who follow my adventures on Facebook or Instagram, you'll already know that I've been on a bit of a roll these past few weeks sketching out a whole heap of imaginary portraits. It is totally indulgent work that I am really loving: beautiful girls with sweet demeanors in gorgeous clothes.

And so, here's a few pics of my latest effort, and the first finished piece of my 'Wallflowers' series: 'Aurelia'. Her name means 'golden', which I thought was kind of fitting for her caramel-coloured eyes and Nordic tresses. Aurelia loves purple and was especially delighted to find this little eighties number crop up in her local op-shop. The only thing she needed to really set the whole thing off was a funky purse- cherry red to suit her lippy; salvaged this time from her grandma's wardrobe and customised with a bit of lace and an antique daisy necklace for a strap. Très chic, no?

 

 

 

 

 

I hope you love her as much as I loved bringing her to life.

Mel x

snip snip spaghetti

Well, here we are, Wednesday again! I do hope it's been a wonderful one for you; for me it is effectively a Sunday and heralds the start of another potentially awesome week of being a carnie artist and lording it at my marvellous market shoppe.

I must say I am feeling particularly chirpy and excited about this coming week, mostly because I can finally put my lovely readers out of their misery, and share the brand-new print I've been teasing you with these past few weeks!

Like almost every little girl, I loved the story of 'Rapunzel' growing up, and like almost every big little girl, I was absolutely delighted by Disney's gorgeous interpretation a few years back. Being a total geek, I've always been fascinated by the symbols and themes of traditional fairytales, and increasingly frustrated by the cotton-wool approach of so many modern interpretations. 'Tangled' is so unabashedly fun and charming in so many ways (not least the casting of the adorable Mandy Moore as the voice of Rapunzel) that you'll find few complaints from me there, harmless as it is.

In fact, this particular tale was watered down pretty much in its conception: by the time the Brothers Grimm got to it, Rapunzel was already snug in the mould of damsel in distress. Does it not strike anyone else as remotely dumb that she didn't just hack her plaits herself? Why wait for some silly prince to come along and knock her up before she decided she wanted freedom? (Oh yes, by the time the wicked witch threw her out, Miss 'Punzel was already up the duff with twins. But then, there's only so long storytellers can maintain their heroines' maidenhood with a story that is essentially about a girl trapped in a giant phallic symbol).

Even as a little girl the sorts of heroines I loved best were always the deciders of their own fate, and the sexier for it. Always pretty, but in an interesting and flawed sort of a way. Rapunzel is traditionally portrayed as golden-haired, but I much prefer the mysterious, exotic look of a raven-haired girl, and so decided my interpretation needed dark roots, 'dirty' roots even- I like to imagine dying her hair was the first thing she did when she escaped her tower prison and began her own little Rapunzel Rebellion. (This was mostly inspired by an enraptured viewing of old Green Day video clips showing on the blinking television set in the cheap 24 hour diner where she took refuge that first night of freedom). The regrowth is starting to show now that she's been on the road a few weeks. So too is her rose tattoo healing- she wanted something badass but decided that getting a tattoo was really quite outrageous enough, and would still have given rise to a right cracker of an argument had the old witch been there to see it, which made Rapunzel smile and enjoy the whole sadistic pleasure of being inked. And besides, Rapunzel isn't too tough to admit she really does have a soft spot for roses!

Like a typical teenager, Rapunzel gets bored waiting, with nothing to do. It must have been ages ago that she ordered. Maybe a little snip might give the waitress a hint . . .

Thoughts?

Mel x

pretty, pink and a little bit punk ♥

Happy hump-day peeps and squeaks!

Just thought I'd share a snippet of a drawing I've been working on this week . . . oh, and any excuse to fiddle around with Instagram! Only a week has passed since I finally gave in to the iPad craze and as Dave will testify, I am already addicted to those gorgeous lo-res, faux Polaroid effects!

Thoughts?

Mel x

'new bloom in the star garden': a glorious giveaway

"If you love a flower that lives on a star, it is sweet to look at the sky at night. All the stars are a-bloom with flowers. . ."

- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.

To all my friends who proudly wear their hearts on their sleeves and take time to stop and smell the roses, I'm so pleased to be able to share this new piece with you.

'New Bloom in the Star Garden' is a tribute to my very favourite book in all the world, 'The Little Prince', by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. 'The Little Prince' is a novella about a little boy with golden hair and a heart big enough to fill the universe. He leaves his home, Asteroid B-612, to explore other planets, including Earth. His adventures are filled with an array of colourful characters, whose personalities are loosely based upon the tyranny of grown-up thinking, or the personification of human motives and emotions (eg. narrow-mindedness, greed, vanity, pride, diligence, humility, kindness).


The Little Prince soon discovers that not all grown-ups or important people make wise decisions, and he inevitably shares these lessons with us just as he learns of them. The Little Prince himself is the embodiment of child-like wonder and curiousity, and learns to open his heart completely to the possibility of, and the responsibilities that come with, love and friendship.

 

 

It is, quite simply, unspeakably beautiful. You can read, or re-read it here.

 

I was very pleased to see, on a trip to the Bologna Children's Book Fair last year, that 'The Little Prince' has now been extended into a sweet little animated series, following the Prince's adventures after his return to Asteroid B-612. So far as I can see, the spirit and integrity of the original text has been maintained with the continued story, (which is only right of course), and it's had me thinking ever since- how would I choose to continue the story, if I could? 

 

 

I imagine the Little Prince has returned from one of his adventures with a packet of poppy seeds, in the hope that they will grow on his little planet and keep his beloved Rose company while he is off on adventures. With his little yellow sprinkling-can, he carefully plants and waters these seeds, and after watching some 27 sunsets, falls into a peaceful, happy sleep.


And the next morning, 'exactly at sunrise', this is what he saw: a real little rose-girl, more beautiful than the poppies that blow in the breeze around her, on Asteroid B-612. Perhaps the Little Prince will take her with him on his next trip to Earth, so they can be together for always?

'New Bloom in the Star Garden' is now available in my Etsy Shop.

If you'd love a chance to win your own copy of 'New Bloom in the Star Garden', you can go to the Grumpy Star Studio Facebook page for all the details.

Don't have Facebook? That's alright, all you need to do is:

1. Sign yourself up to subscribe to or follow the blog;

2. Post a comment here, in as many or little words as you fancy, why you'd love to win them.

One lucky winner will be drawn on Wednesday, May 23rd. Two runners-up will also receive a Set of 20 Art Postcards as featured in my Etsy Shop.  

 

Good luck!

 

Mel x

dead-busy and knee-deep in coloured pencils

Hullo petalcakes,

Just thought I'd do a quick share with you of my progress with the commission piece featured in black-and-white in my last post. Any guesses yet about the story that might have inspired it?

Have an awesome rest-of-the-week peeps and squeaks!

Mel x

not dead, just dead busy!

 

Hullo peeps and squeeks!

Just a wee note to let you know I've not fallen from the face of the planet these few weeks past (obviously- I was in the paper last week!), with no public sharing of my work since 'brown-bread-and-buttered-flies'. As always, I am ever busy behind-the-scenes, and the prepatory drawing for my latest commission piece has taken quite a bit of time . . . more pictures very soon as I begin to colour it tomorrow!

Hope you're tremendous wherever your heart might wander this week.

Mel x

for the love of butter

We all have vices. Anyone who says they don't is either telling porky-pies of epic proportions or else dangerously deluded.

I've kicked my smoking habit more times than I care to remember, and a month ago for the last time. I have pretty much substituted this filthy habit with an addiction for gallons of tea, which isn't so bad except I drink way too much coffee as it is and am so immune to caffeine I can fall asleep half an hour after a cup of the stuff at midnight (I honestly do just love the taste and smell of it). Dave is an excellent cook and I've been known to polish off an entire cheesecake, unaided, in a weekend. This is basically my sole reason for a gym membership and running habit. It's a dirty vicious cycle.

Most vices answer to a kind of need I think, and some of us (me) just have addictive personalities. But there are some that fly their own little freak flag; dorky vices, not really malignant but that raise their weird little heads in public situations (or, as the case may be, on a blog) to make us blush and raise the eyebrows of those who love us best.

So I'll just come out with it: I love butter. I smother the most disgusting amount of the stuff on anything more solid than butter. I eat butter with crumpets on the side. Plonk a bucket of it on a mountain of pumpkin mash and I'm yours. It's an absolutely necessary ingredient for shortbread, which is incidentally, the perfect accompaniment to my tenth daily cup of tea. It smells amazing when it gets warm and melty. When my metabolism slows down and I need the help of two fat blokes and a winch to get me out of my chair, it will be for the love of butter!

Lewis Carroll very famously used the irony of the word 'butterfly' to brilliant effect in 'Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There', creating insects made from slabs of buttered toast, who live on weak tea with cream. This sort of butterfly would be wonderful I think, but I'd have to snatch a fair few of them to slake my butter-thirst! I wanted my own to be bigger and nice and drippy; kind of like a flying breakfast.

'brown-bread-and-buttered-flies' is available now in my Etsy Shop for you to gaze on while you munch thoughtfully on your breakfast. And, unlike real butter, this picture is calorie-free.

Blessed be those who love butter!

Mel x